


Downpour

by but_i_am_a_villain



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, F/F, Fives Times Fic, Fluff, Internal Conflict, Introspection, It's Always Rainy in Halifax (apparently), Lots of rain, Marian got a character tag but really she's just here to yell at Anne, Multichapter, Musing, There will be some kissing, Weather, Weather based symbolism!, and some crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_i_am_a_villain/pseuds/but_i_am_a_villain
Summary: Five times it rained in Halifax.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 115





	1. I

Anne marched her way into the estate as she usually did: at all too quick of a pace, her boots thudding on every old floorboard. On a good day she’d bring with her a few leaves, a twig or two, and gravel from the estate grounds. _That_ day, while thunder grumbled and the pitter-patter of rain sounded against the roof, just a bit more of the natural world followed her inside and took up residence on the already tired wood by the entryway.

Marian was, of course, the first to notice.

“Anne.” she sighed, exasperated to say the least, “The _mud!_ You’re getting it everywhere, and your _coat..._ you’re soaking wet.”

“Quite. Glad your keen eyes are still in correspondence with your mouth.” Anne quipped in reply, shedding each layer of her sopping wet ensemble one by one. Gloves off first, they were sticking to her hands anyways. The hat came next, giving her reason to smirk when tipping the brim of it sent a puddle of rain water racing down onto the floor. Top coat next, thoroughly soaked, and her boots...well, she’d deal with those later.

Marian remained perturbed, as was expected, watching with half a scowl as her sister moved to and fro like a half drowned rat. 

“Would you care to explain _why_ you’ve—”

“No, not particularly.” 

“—why you’ve been out in weather like this?”

Anne couldn’t suppress a smile, for the reason she’d been out in a downpour was a happy one indeed. Tossing her hat and gloves into Marian’s reluctant arms, she whirled around and set off for the stairs to her room.

“I was at Crow Nest.”

“You walked all the way back here from Crow Nest in the _rain?”_

“Would you rather me say I crawled here?”

“You _look_ as though you have! It’s been gloomy all day, weren’t you paying any attention?”

Another smile darted across Anne’s face, similar to the first as it brought with it memories of the hours that had passed before. Oh, of course she’d known it was going to rain, she’d known since thirty two minutes past eight that morning. She’d watched the clouds roll in and had left quite pointedly after breakfast, strutting her way up to Crow Nest and rapping on the door just as the last inkling of the sun disappeared behind a shadow of the storm to come. 

The rain began just as she’d finished looking at Miss Walker’s most recent paintings, accompanied shortly after by rounds of thunder and the low moan of the wind. Well, of course she’d looked nonchalantly out the window of the sitting room and proclaimed she’d overstayed her welcome. Of course she’d flashed Miss Walker a dashing smile and squeezed her hands and told her she ought to have watched the skies more carefully, how foolish of her. Of course she’d risen and started to turn when Miss Walker ran to the window and declared that Anne couldn’t possibly walk back to Shibden in _this._

And of course Miss Walker had insisted that Anne stay at least another hour, until the worst of the storm had passed.

And of course, Anne had agreed. 

So what if one hour had turned to four, and what if she’d _missed_ the window of opportunity when the storm actually had lightened up? That wasn’t the bit of her afternoon she cared to remember. She was much more intrigued by the time spent lounging beside Miss Walker, listening to her tell stories about her days spent with her sister, about the antics of her family, and _Lord,_ there were so many of them, and about moments that made her laugh. God, Anne would have weathered a thousand storms to hear that girl laugh.

One would do for now, though. She’d excused herself when Miss Walker began to look tired, saying she really must be going as she hadn’t written to her Aunt about the hour she’d be home, and if she was really going to make James go all the way to Shibden in the rain she might as well do it herself. She’d kissed Miss Walker’s hands before she went, disappearing out the door with a sly smile after promising _yes,_ she would return tomorrow. 

The rain had caressed her face as she stepped outside, kissing her features with every step she took while thunder giggled delightedly overhead. Her jaunty walk home had left mud on the underside of her skirt and all along the toes of her boots, evidence of where the dirt too had risen to shower her with affection. It seemed the whole of the sky and earth had awoken to pepper her with love, and soon, Anne had decided, it would not be the storm alone that moved to kiss her, but Miss Walker as well. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

So, yes. Perhaps it was fair to say she’d paid _some_ amount of attention to the storm before she left. Just a little. 

“A little rain will do us all some good. Perhaps you ought to take a little stroll yourself, see if it’ll wash that sour look off your face.” Anne mused, redirecting her thoughts as she resumed her usual strutting about the house. Marian followed like an obedient, yet entirely irritated, puppy. 

“Can you at least take your shoes off before you go trumping around the house?”

“No.”

“Anne—”

“Tell Eugenie to get the bath ready, would you?”

“The _mud—"_

“Will not stain the floors forever, as it can be easily washed away, _yes._ Don’t bother with it yet, I’ll be out again tomorrow and the weather won’t have cleared by then.”

“How do you know that, exactly?” Marian huffed, standing at the base of the stairs in an all-too-familiar position as Anne scurried away, “And where on earth do you think you’ll be going if it continues on like this?”

Anne, ignoring her sister’s ignorant questioning regarding the rain, turned back only for a moment. Her smile had returned.

“Back to Crow Nest...rain or shine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have some season one feels, shall we? There will be an update every week for the next four weeks, until we complete all "five times" that it's rained! There will be laughter, there will be sorrow, and there may be a few surprises! 
> 
> Also, happy birthday to our own Ann Walker today! She will appear more in the coming installments, that's for sure! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second time it rained in Halifax.

It didn’t really surprise Anne that Miss Walker was afraid of thunder. The poor dear seemed to be afraid of just about everything, and with her overall constitution and general way of being, Anne anticipated that a sizable storm may very well frighten the little blonde right off her feet. Surely any force of nature would startle the girl and undo her entirely. One clap of thunder that rattled the house and made the windows shake would certainly send her spiraling, disturbing her painting or her reading or whatever it was she was planning on doing. A storm loud enough may even send her to bed in a panicked fit.

As it just so happened, Anne’s anticipation became a reality one fine Tuesday evening. A storm had rolled into Halifax around half past two in the afternoon. The sky darkened considerably over the next thirty seven minutes, as Anne kept silent but careful note of. She could hear the thunder grumbling off in the distance, but Ann seemed to pay it no mind. The little woman was entirely too absorbed in retelling Anne about a memory of her and her sister while stitching away at a sampler; her body was in that room, but her mind worked elsewhere. She was not as in tune with the shifting of the air as Anne was herself, and so when thunder clapped over the roof of Crow Nest loud enough to jostle the tea cups they’d left sitting on the table, Miss Walker jolted forward in surprise. 

“Oh!” The cry left her lips in tandem with her sampler falling from her hands. The needle and thread disappeared into the pattern of the rugs beneath them, forgotten for the moment; Ann’s attention went to her spine, which suddenly ached with the spastic movement, and Anne’s concern followed suit.

“Are you alright?” The older woman asked, kneeling immediately beside the lounge chair to examine Ann as best she could. She preferred to speak to Ann like this when she was in need, it seemed to keep them on a much more level footing. 

Ann, flustered and looking lamely for her sampler, attempted to wave Anne off. 

“Yes, yes, I’m  _ fine.  _ It just...startled me...I’m quite alright—”

“Your back…” Anne mused out loud, interrupting Miss Walker’s less than convincing assurances, “...you ought to go lie down. At least if you startle again, you’ll be in a safe enough spot. No doubt it’ll just get even worse outside, so no point in sitting here just waiting for the inevitable. Come, I’ll walk you up.”

“But...you’re not  _ leaving,  _ are you?” Ann said, “Not...not if it’s going to rain. You’ll stay?”

The corners of Anne’s lips curled up just as another clap of thunder sounded outside. The universe was giving her a pat on the back, surely, and she most certainly deserved it.

Placing a gentle kiss on the top of Miss Walker’s hand, Anne answered the woman’s rather frantic musings with a coy smile and the quirk of her brows. Were anyone to peer over Ann’s shoulder to see Miss Lister’s smile, perhaps they’d have thought the look was directed at them.

“Of course I’ll stay.”

And with that she led Miss Walker out of the sitting room and up the stairs. James stood beside the door, watching as they went with what may have been half a smile. He was good to Miss Walker, Anne approved of him, and she liked him even more when he made no fuss about her hastily shooing Miss Walker towards her bedroom.

“James,” she called, her voice competing with the rain that had started to pelt the windows of Crow Nest, “Miss Walker needs to rest. There’s a needle and sampler somewhere on the carpet by the fireplace. Do pick it up, please. It’d be such a shame for someone to come by and be pricked during their next visit.”

Those were her last words before she disappeared up the steps, noting the quiet  _ yes ma’am  _ that James uttered before she forgot the man, the sitting room, and the storm entirely. All of her attention turned instead to Miss Walker, who likewise seemed to have shed her shoes, her concern for her sewing, and her guise of platonic friendliness. 

Her hands were on Anne’s shoulders before she’d so much as had a chance to shut the door. What a surprising creature Miss Walker turned out to be...constantly more forward than Anne would have ever expected, especially with the display she’d just witnessed downstairs. Could it be that little Ann had anticipated the thunder, had jolted on  _ purpose  _ at its uproarious sound, and had made an implicit fuss just to get Anne here,  _ alone,  _ in her room again?

Well, so much for a panicked fit, Anne supposed. Her own hands were already locked on Ann’s waist, and their lips had been connected in a heated exchange for several moments already. Perhaps the storm hadn’t driven Miss Walker to  _ panic  _ so much as it had driven her to other things. Anxiousness, yes, but something more. Fidgeting fueled by isolation. Wandering thoughts as a result of their house-bound proximity. Squirming. Daydreaming.  _ Longing. _

Distracted by her thoughts, as much as other things, Anne almost missed the way Ann tugged at her waistcoat, using it as a lead to pull them both down onto the plushness of the bed. It hadn’t actually been Anne’s idea to help Ann rest quite like this, but with a sly look over the blonde’s shoulder to observe the rain outside she decided that they ought to proceed. They at least had to wait out this weather, didn’t they?

And so Anne started to learn that Miss Walker, with her willingness to make the bed creak in time with the moans of the wind and her marvelous ability to entice Anne with a kind of wetness that had nothing to do with the rain, did not seem to fear storms at all. Whereas Anne had been so convinced of her own sentiments before, she was now, despite her best ability not to be,  _ surprised  _ by the little blonde that rolled and shook and trembled beneath her. Ann Walker, she realized, was a bit of a force of nature herself. 

And though with each new crack of thunder came another one of Miss Walker’s flighty, breathless gasps, this time Anne attributed the noise more to her hands, lost in the folds of Ann’s skirts, than to any foolish storm outside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, more Ann Walker! I really love the concept of Anne being surprised by Ann, not only by her physicality, a la "would you like to come for dinner and then stay all night," but by her general way of being. Ann definitely had a little more substance, and likewise a little more gusto, than I think Anne ever assumed. There will be more of that particular dynamic in upcoming sections.
> 
> Thank you for reading! On to the next!


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third time it rained in Halifax.

How quickly the weather could change in Halifax. How quickly a great  _ many  _ things could change.

Every day seemed gray now, and though it wasn’t exactly atypical for spring to offer such a damp welcome, Anne couldn’t recall the last time she’d walked through this much mud. Her skirts were often heavy with the substance and her boots thoroughly stained, yet the clouds offered her no reprieve. They hung tauntingly over Shibden in the afternoons and stayed dark well into the evening when she returned to Crow Nest. The sky seemed unusually heavy at all hours and the nights became painfully tumultuous.

Anne supposed she never thought of the latter before, not with this kind of intensity, anyways. She always assumed nature did what it pleased at night and perhaps settled a great deal without prying eyes to curse its winds or scowl at its rains. Perhaps the world breathed a sigh of relief when people took to their beds, and there were no more boots to tread through mud and no more hands to pull up roots. Even when puddles appeared or frost clung to new blades of grass she assumed it was from a peaceful transition between the elements. The air could not have been full of malice, nor the sky so full of sorrow. Nature, she thought, was allowed its own reprieve. 

She knew better now, though. When the world was meant to be asleep the earth awoke to its fullest force. It raged in its own silence. It sent in storm after storm for nights on end, like a battered militia seeking vengeance on an enemy; weather was nature’s ammunition, and every sleeping soul that had ever dared to tread upon the earth was its antagonist. It summoned cracks of thunder that sounded like cannons. It offered streaks of lightning that scorched the earth and bled into the sky. It pounded rain against the windows and shook the stone walls of Crow Nest with howling winds. 

It even kept pace with the wretched clock on Ann Walker’s landing. Even when the devilish machine was quiet the world outside was not. Anne learned this over the course of many sleepless nights where if the murmur of thunder and the drumming of rain didn’t keep her up, Miss Walker did.

The poor creature was worse than Anne had ever seen her. She thought perhaps they’d been through the thick of this already, after Ann had confessed what Thomas Ainsworth had done to her. Anne thought then, having held Ann in her arms until she’d cried herself into an exhausted stupor, that surely they’d seen the worst of what one’s own mind had to offer. Ann hadn’t slept well in the days leading up to his arrival. Her back ached, she was quiet at meals, but surely, Anne thought, that was to be the last of it. They would weather his brief time in Halifax together and then they would be done with this mess. How naive she’d been to think that. How  _ stupid.  _

No, Miss Walker was  _ undoubtedly  _ worse now. She was up every night now, almost squarely at ten in the evening until thirty three minutes past five. Occasionally she fell asleep somewhere in between, after Anne had taken the weights from the clocks and very seriously considered throwing them out the window to never be seen again. But then the weather would wake her and Anne would curse the skies beneath her breath.

She ought to be done with this, she would think to herself as the clouds rumbled and roared. Surely she was of no use to Miss Walker now. Anne had no cure for whatever ailed her, she had no words that seemed to soothe her or no advice that could be easily taken. She could not control the world outside, much as she’d tried. Ann would be better off without her, and surely she would be better off without Ann in turn.

And still, Anne tramped through puddles and skirted around pits of mud day in and day out, making the bleak walk from Crow Nest to Shibden and back again more times than she could count. Every time she thought she was done, every time she thought she ought to take off her boots and hang her coat out to dry so that Marian wouldn’t make some horrendous fit about it all, another note would arrive. Another memory would tug at her heart. Another promise she’d made to Ann, another fleeting  _ of course I’ll stay,  _ would drag her back outside and back into the mess.

And a mess it surely was. To watch Ann wake in a horrid fright after ruthless nightmares, to watch her claw at an unseen noose around her neck and hear her frantic mutterings for forgiveness, it broke Anne in two. There was nothing she could say to drown out the voices that rattled in Ann’s head; the girl spoke of nothing but shouting and drums and jeers and calls for death. She was always looking around the room, crying out in fear of spirits that were never there. Anne couldn’t combat those unseen foes either.

All she could do was lay by Ann’s side, often sharing what little space was left on the bed with a terrified Catherine Rawson, and watch it all happen. She tried to keep Ann’s hands from pulling out her own hair, or away from her neck where she was beginning to scratch marks that never faded by morning, or off the red, leather Bible that Ann clung to so fiercely. She wanted to burn that wretched book, to curse it and spit on it and call it something other than what it was. How could that be the word of God if it caused Ann this much pain? 

On darker nights, when there was no reprieve and Ann never seemed to fall back asleep, she often held the young woman to keep her from rocking frantically on the mattress. In doing so she could feel the way Ann’s body was somehow crumbling beneath her. Every day she seemed thinner and more fragile. Anne couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Ann eat. It was as though this woman, this clever, enigmatic girl who had stolen her heart, was wasting away entirely. 

Anne was going to lose her. Anne perhaps had already lost her.

And through it all, through the tears and the waking screams and the pleas to a higher power that Anne wished so desperately would grant them just one quiet happiness, the weather outside raged in untempered fits. The skies wept for Ann Walker while the wind cackled at her misery. 

Anne could do nothing now but weather the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can never resist examining the nightmare scene from "Do Ladies Do That?". It is one of the most compelling, heart-wrenching, and complex scenes in this series. My heart breaks for Ann over and over again, so I wanted to write something that expressed a bit of that heartbreak. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments and kudos over these past few installments! I cannot wait for you all to the last two sections. Chapter IV was my favorite to write, so look for that one next week! 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read!


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One time it rained in Copenhagen.

Good Lord, did it  _ always  _ rain this much in Copenhagen? 

Anne couldn’t recall how many times she’d written that phrase in her travel diary now, wondering both silently to herself and out loud in lonely musings how it could possibly rain this much in a single place on earth. She had thought, surely, that nowhere in the world was as gray as Halifax, and perhaps that was still true. The skies weren’t often  _ gray  _ here so much as they were pitch black with the deepest, darkest clouds she had ever seen in her life. And no, it didn’t rain  _ every  _ day, but when it did rain, it did not seem to  _ stop  _ for any decent amount of time.

That didn’t always keep her inside. Much to Eugenie’s chagrin, they were still out and about on the dampest of days. Anne had things to do, people to see, friends to make, thoughts to keep distracted from, connections to establish, memories to ignore, dinners to attend. A little rain wasn’t going to keep her from her adventures. 

A thunderstorm that rattled the very cobblestones of the streets, though...well, that would do the trick. It was dark enough beneath the clouds and through the sheets of rain that drivers could get lost and carriages could slide on the makeshift rivers in the streets. She swore she’d already heard the swerving of wheels and the cracking of axles from various gigs that rounded the corner too quickly. This kind of weather, where day had turned back into night, kept Anne housebound. 

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, she supposed. Her apartment was roomy and smartly furnished, with plenty of windows so she wasn’t too stuffed up. She’d unpacked her things two weeks ago and was settling in quite nicely, with plenty to eat, plenty to read, plenty of places to shop and socialize and the like. She had friends here, too, more than she’d had in one place in quite some time. They liked her, she knew they did. They surely found her charming and a well-managed conversationalist. They made her laugh, something she felt she hadn’t done for ages. They complimented her. They flirted with her. 

What she wouldn’t give to have them with her now. Maybe it wasn’t so bad outside. Maybe she could convince that little Miss Ferrall to come and see her, maybe they could strike up a conversation, maybe they could find something  _ more  _ to do. She could have that girl upon her knee in an hour’s time, maybe less. Miss Ferrall may fall quite hopelessly for her. No, not maybe, Anne knew she would. Maybe the weather wouldn’t keep her away.

A pointedly ominous  _ crack  _ of thunder sounded outside, giving Anne reason to flinch from where she sat beside the window. From below, an unfortunate passerby stuck in the storm cried out in shock and a horse could be heard trying to yank free of its reins. 

That was a  _ no,  _ then. There would be no visitors today, no dainty Miss Ferrall to keep unwanted thoughts at bay. There would only be Anne, this storm, and the memories she’d been running from since she arrived on the continent.

Why should she be forced to suffer like this, she wondered, and why should she have to sit and dwell on unhappy thoughts? She wondered if maybe she should have Eugenie start a bath for her, just to kill some time. She wondered if she ought to write another letter to her aunt even though she’d sent one out that morning. She wondered if there would be a letter in reply from any of her previous messages any time soon. She wondered how Marian was doing, despite her best attempts not to. She wondered if it would stop raining come morning. She wondered why nature seemed so dead set on keeping her trapped inside. 

She wondered how much it rained in Scotland this time of year. 

That musing gave her pause, too much pause, and her head filled with all manner of other thoughts that she knew better than to have. She shook her head to will them away, even muttering under her breath to try and banish the images that crept into her mind.

The thunder boomed outside again. She never did ask if Ann was afraid of thunder.

She’d assumed yes, obviously. But she had assumed a lot about Ann, and had been proven wrong time and time again. She remembered an amenable visit to Crow Nest, on one of those gloomy days where she couldn’t find an excuse to take Ann for a walk around those sprawling gardens that encircled the estate, where she assumed that a woman of Ann’s pedigree must be quite musically gifted. There was a piano in one of the studies after all. She’d assumed Ann wouldn’t mind showing off for her and had teased and poked and coaxed her into playing, only to discover that Ann played like a cat stepping on the keys. The moment had made Anne laugh out loud, which had turned an already blushing Miss Walker a new shade of red. Anne had sat beside her on the bench and kissed her to quell her worries, gently murmuring that it did not matter to her if Ann could hold a tune or not.

She’d assumed then that Ann was just a little inept when it came to music, which was hardly a concern. She made up for it in other ways. Looking back on it, though, Anne realized she’d seen the way Ann’s hands shook when they touched the keys and the way her foot rattled on the pedal. Her ears had been red long before she’d played a single note, and her eyes were never focused on the music so much as they were darting nervously between the score and Anne herself. What Anne assumed was a lack of practice may have really been Ann’s sudden terror at performing for a suitor, if they were allowed to call it that. Maybe Ann was a brilliant pianist and Anne had gotten everything wrong.

It wouldn’t have been the first time, she realized now. 

There was the incident with the tea, where she’d put extra sugar in Ann’s cup only to find out that she took her tea plain with only a dash of cream. Then there was the time with the biscuit, where Ann had smacked her hand and feigned great offense after Anne, who thought Miss Walker would surely not be able to eat six of those morsels in one sitting, had attempted to steal the last biscuit off her plate. There was also the time in York when Anne had believed her counterpart to be asleep, only to discover that she was lying entirely nude beneath the sheets in an effort to surprise Anne after dinner. 

There was the time before that, too, when Anne had thought that Miss Walker would find joy in Anne’s hand slipping up her skirt that night they sat in the parlor together. Ann had pushed her away in a fright and told her she wasn’t ready. There was the time not long after that where Anne had thought Miss Walker was willing to swear an oath to her and for Anne to swear one in return. Ann had crumpled and cried and shouted at Anne in a fright. 

There was the time when Anne had presented her lover with a ring and begged her to take it, thinking it would cure her ailments and ease her mind. Ann had reached for it and wept and curled in on herself, hands shaking as though they were once again resting on ivory keys under watchful eyes. Only that time, Anne realized, Ann had trembled not at the notion of performing for a suitor, but at the terror of  _ having  _ such a suitor as her. 

She’d assumed much about Ann Walker. She’d thought her a dull spot in her most distant memories. She’d thought her rather frail, a pushover, someone she could mould into whatever shape she desired. She’d thought her suddenly fierce and resilient, a bright spot in many cloudy years. She’d thought her brave, never weak, and courageous. She’d thought her weary from a world that had asked too much of her. She’d thought her frightened. She’d thought her fearless.

Now, with the rain banging against her windows in a pattern that sounded far too much like rickety keys in an out-of-tune melody, and with thunder reminding her of blonde curls, brilliant smiles, shaky hands, and teary eyes, she was not sure what she thought anymore. She only knew that she thought of it too much.

When the storm cleared, she assumed these thoughts would leave her at last. She would return to her life as normal. She would take lunch with her friends. She would visit a museum. She would dance and laugh with some woman who took up less of her mind, who she didn’t think of when it rained or when thunder jostled her or when she closed her eyes or when she took even a single breath. 

She assumed all that and more.

Another crack of thunder reminded her she had been wrong before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally cheating on the "five times it rained in Halifax" bit, but I had to get at least one moment with Anne abroad in here! 
> 
> This was my favorite installment to write for a lot of reasons, one of them being the little homage to "go on, fearlessly," aka one of my favorite Ann Walker quotes. But making up "unseen" moments for our girls is also something I have a ton of fun with, and it was a treat to do it in this format! 
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing comments on the last chapter (and the chapters before)! I cannot even begin to express how flattered I am by all your kind words. One chapter left! Thank you again for reading!


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final time it rained in Halifax.

The damn windows had been rattling all night, rickety things. Anne would have scarcely slept because of the noise if she hadn’t slept in this room her entire adult life. Any time the weather picked up the glass seemed to crackle and pop. She really needed to have those things replaced.

That wasn’t what had woken her, though. She didn’t usually sleep in, this was true, but lately she hadn’t minded spending a few extra minutes curled up in bed. It was warmer and more comfortable there than it ever had been. Besides, April was a quiet month. She could afford a later start than usual.

Had it not been for the fingers twirling in her hair, tugging and relaxing and tugging again, she might have succeeded in resting a bit longer. But the sensation woke her gradually, and as she roused lazily from her dreams and musings, she turned to find a pair of gentle, blue eyes staring up at her. 

“Good morning.” That sweet, lithe voice drifted through the air like a pleasant spring breeze. It gave Anne reason to blink the sleep from her eyes and stretch her legs beneath the sheets.

“...good morning.” she murmured back. It was not often that she was the second to wake, or the second to acknowledge the process of waking. She ought to check her watch, but she knew reaching for it would disrupt this quiet moment. That and Ann would likely try to toss the damn thing onto the floor. Her wife had quite a strong opinion about her pocket watch. 

That thought, the thought of just those two words, kept her placated for a moment. She felt the gentle weight of Ann’s head on her shoulder, the fingers lost in the unkempt ends of her hair. She heard that spring breeze tap at the windows again, bringing with it the first few raindrops of the morning. She felt the sheets hugging one of her hips, warm and bundled, and the other side where they stretched out to cover Ann’s legs, leaving her cool and comfortable. She laid there beneath those covers entirely content, rolling those words around in her mind. _Her wife._

“You promised to take me into Halifax, rain or shine.”

There was that silken voice again, tugging her from her thoughts and bringing her back into the moment. She heard the rain against the window a little clearer now, pelting the glass as though to tease her. Rain or shine, said Miss Walker? Anne smirked at the notion and shook her head.

“Nonsense. I don’t think I would ever put such a stipulation on an offer.” she mused, “Besides, it would surely upset your softer sensibilities to be out in weather like this.”

She glanced over her shoulder just to catch a glimpse of Ann’s face. Groggy with the morning as they may be, Ann still managed an offended gawk. Anne quite liked that look. She was pretty sure she’d seen it in York, walking out of a church, _their_ church, for the first time together. The expression brought out all the light in Ann’s eyes. Had Anne ever told her how beautiful she looked like that?

“My softer sensibilities? It’s a little drizzle. I think I’ll survive.”

Anne rolled up onto her elbow, offering Ann no more than a _shush_ before bending down to kiss her. Surely she could win any argument this way, she thought, though she was not opposed to these marital squabbles. They always managed to make her laugh, and when was the last time she had done that in earnest? Not for years. Not with another woman, anyways. Not like this.

More often than not, these little debates ended with Anne finding a way to guide her wife— and wasn’t it just perfect to be able to think those words again— to whatever the nearest surface was and put a proper stop to any playful bickering in what Ann referred to as ‘the most wicked of ways.’ Thankfully, they’d been in York the first few times that had happened, with ample pillows and blankets to toss to the foot of the bed. When it happened at Shibden Anne was always quick to shut the door of her bedroom, or of the chaumiere. 

It had only happened in her office once. 

Well, once so far.

This morning, though, Anne’s efforts to win over the woman in her arms seemed futile. Ann accepted each and every kiss, returning them with her own, but still managed to push Anne’s wandering hands away before they could become too enraptured in pleasant morning activities. The little blonde managed a smirk of her own, and good Lord, that look was quite dastardly when plastered on her face.

“It’s improper for a married woman to be walking around town unaccompanied.” Ann announced, placing a quick kiss on Anne’s wedding ring. She’d taken Anne’s hands captive for the moment, meaning all Anne could do was sigh in reply.

“That’s rather draconian, dear. You are an independent, well-mannered woman of good taste. I am sure you can manage a trip into Halifax to get yourself some...what was it again?”

“The silver thread for my sampler.”

“Yes, some silver thread for your sampler. I’ll send Thomas with you to carry your things.”

Another pitter-patter of rain against those useless windows. Another gawk from her wife. Anne couldn’t hold back a smile of her own.

“Carry my things? It’s one package of thread, you really think me so likely to keel over?” Ann’s bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Anne didn’t miss a beat, capturing it again in a soft kiss.

“No…” she murmured, trailing her kisses down Ann’s cheek to just beneath her ear, “...but I do think you quite likely to go on an unsupervised purchasing spree that will undoubtedly laden your arms with boxes upon boxes of unknown delights. I won’t have you walking through the mud weighed down by parcels that Thomas can easily carry.”

Ann let out a bright laugh as she playfully shoved Anne away. “Then come and supervise me.”

There would be no winning this one, Anne decided. Her wife was far too persistent, and far too pretty, to disappoint. She expressed her defeat with a dramatic sigh, rolling back against her pillows and thumping her hands down upon the mattress.

“Then I suppose I have no choice, hmm? We’d better get dressed. Mind you I have a meeting at three o’clock, and I can’t be late for that!”

Ann, shining in her victory, sought once more for a verbal commitment to her original statement. 

“But you’ll be with me, rain or shine?”

She thought of a dozen things to say, most of them quips about knowing it would be _rain_ today or thinking that her wife merely wanted to poke fun at her when she inevitably got mud on her newly polished boots. She’d even opened her mouth to say as much when the stability of the words struck her, quieting her for just a moment. 

It was not the first time Ann had asked for her company. Lord only knew how many times she had promised Ann on happy nights that she would stay, and how many times she’d quelled frantic worries with the same words. It was not the first time she’d heard rain outside and found herself at Ann’s side, feeling their fingers laced together and their legs twined beneath the sheets. It was not the first storm that had threatened their day. 

But it was the first time she felt secure in the promise she would make in reply. They’d shed enough tears to rain down for a lifetime. They’d howled in tumultuous misery like the worst winds to ever whip through the countryside. They’d crackled and roared at one another in fearsome, thunderous bursts. They had survived every downpour so far.

Anne knew they would weather a thousand more.

_But you’ll be with me, rain or shine?_

She leaned in close again, a softer smile than she had ever managed before breaking out over her face. While the world outside was reborn in another spring shower, she leaned in and kissed Ann tenderly. Her thumb grazed over her wife’s ring as she made her promise, her voice as soft as thought she were sealing her vows.

“I will be with you.” She meant it with every ounce of her body and soul. “Rain or shine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, friends! After some somber installments I wanted to end on a happy note in order to celebrate our heroines and bring some light back into their story!
> 
> I have enjoyed sharing this work with you so very much! Thank you to everyone who left kudos, who commented, and who was kind enough to read. All of you kind words have meant the world to me, and have inspired me to write more! I hope to have more to share with you in the coming weeks!
> 
> Thank you all again for reading and for taking time to keep this little fic going! Cheers!


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